


A Fox In The Bird House

by EveningRose309



Series: The Fox And The Crow [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, BAMF Newt Scamander, Cats, Cheers Mates, College Professor Albus Dumbledore, Detectives, Dogs, Drunk Theseus Scamander, Drunken Everything, Gentleman Gellert Grindelwald, I Tried, I mean Grindelwald runs the town so, I promise I won't abandon this one, Idiot Cops, Mafia Boss Gellert Grindelwald, Multi, Murder, Mutual Pining, No Beta, Oh and Also, Overprotective Theseus Scamander, Past Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Poor Life Choices, Protective Albus Dumbledore, Romance, Serial Killer Newt Scamander, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, We Die Like Men, Writer Newt Scamander, and, and Newt, and Queenie, and albus, and the Barebones, except for Jacob, lots of dogs, lots of those, really though everybody either works for him or is a cop, this is a romcom, well technically they're just lazy, you get the point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 13:39:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19199965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveningRose309/pseuds/EveningRose309
Summary: This was to be his last kill. He'd promised- no, vowed that this would be the last.He sighed, hands itching for the keys on his laptop, words coming back to him even as he stared at the body he'd just nailed to the wall. Not bad. Messy though, but at least the sheer brutality of it would throw the police off just enough. He didn't need interpol trailing him, though he doubted they'd make the connection, and even if they did, he'd be long gone, a sparrow among a too large flock of others.At least, that had been the plan, had he not been careless and let the loathsome little bugger get away just in time to make that damned phone call._______In which a serial killer falls in love with his target, a crow think's he's found a humming bird, and everyone else is either with them, against them, drunk, trigger happy, or just plain done.And Albus? He wishes he never called.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, I know. We've been through this before, and to be honest, I really am sorry I never could go back to Between the Devil & The Blood Red Sea. I will try to keep this one going though, I have a plan (sort of) and I really like this sort of murder mystery with a dash of comedy and what not. I hope this will, somehow, make up for that. I am sorry to those who liked BTD&TBRS and wanted to see more of it. I hope you'll still enjoy this one, even though it isn't really the same.
> 
> But anyway, enjoy!

This was to be his last kill. He'd promised- no,  _ vowed _ that this would be the last. 

 

It was a disease, this hunger. A woeful, terrible disease. He didn't like it. Didn't like what it did, what it made him  _ do _ , how it made him so unlike himself. 

 

He sighed, hands itching for the keys on his laptop, words coming back to him even as he stared at the body he'd just nailed to the wall. With how short and stocky it was, the sight made him think of a beetle, pinned by tiny needles inside a glass case. Like the many cases, in fact, that hung within the portly thing's distasteful office. Even his brother had better taste than that. He took a step back, inspecting his work. Not bad. Messy though, but at least the sheer brutality of it would throw the police off just enough. He didn't need interpol trailing him, though he doubted they'd make the connection, and even if they did, he'd be long gone, a sparrow among a too large flock of others. 

 

At least, that had been the plan, had he not been careless and let the loathsome little bugger get away just in time to make that damned phone call. Not to the police, he was sure, even their lot wouldn't bother with the likes of that horrid monstrosity. The pesky thing had no friends- none that would help him or were nearby -and family had denounced the hapless prune long ago, he'd wager. 

 

He stared down at the cracked cellphone in his hand, at the name that bumbling buffoon had so conveniently labeled over the number. He'd heard the voice of its beholder, and the simpering worm had been telling them everything as he'd walked in and shot him with the crossbow. Through the dying static, the smooth baritone of man echoed annoyedly even as he cut the call and bashed the fool's head in. He'd paid no mind to it as he was arranging his ruse, though now…. 

 

He closed the screen and pocketed it. That name, whoever it was knew who  _ he  _ was and he couldn't have that, no no, even as the version of his name the harlot had given them was a fake one, he just couldn't have it. He hated loose ends and no doubt this other would come sniffing around, bringing with him a pack of more distasteful fiends to bother him. He had made a name in killing off their folk after all. 

 

He took in the number again. American, he was certain, or at least that was where it had been broadcasted. International nonetheless, the hassle, though he was headed there anyway. The numbers were…charming, something easily remembered. The name though, he knew he'd heard it somewhere, he had to have, he could feel it on the tip of his tongue.

 

He stripped as he walked down the halls- not the wig though, he'd strip that off at the hotel -and threw the crossbow in the fireplace as he stuffed the bloody clothes into his bag and changed into new ones. 

 

This was to be his last kill. He couldn't leave the situation as is, no sir, it would come back to bite him. His last kill, his very last since the atrocious mucker upstairs stole this one from him. This man, this other, well he could only hope for two things in their regards. 

 

One, that they'd be long gone, preferably dead to save him the hassle. 

 

Or two, that they'll be a good little worm, and go down without a fight. 

 

As he walked into the cold night air, he doubted for both of those. 


	2. Chapter 1

Newt was beginning to regret not bringing his coat. Or a thicker jacket or an umbrella, maybe even the  _ car  _ for instance? 

 

He cursed himself and silently entered the bar. 

 

Newt hated places like this. New Franklin- the blue striped white collar city it was -was wrought with them. Bars upon bars upon bars. Bars that reeked of alcohol and sweat. Bars filled with mindless drunkards and obnoxious- though not all of them were, he knew -women. And, specifically in this part of town, bars owned by gentlemen blue collar criminals, small time syndicates, glorified mobs that took what they wanted from the more not-so-vulnerable-but-just-stupid citizens of New Franklin.

 

Sadly, Newt's brother fit exactly into that category. 

 

He walked in and breathed the stale scent of beer and some sort of air freshener. This was one of the nicer ones. The wood flooring still looked clean- chipped, but  _ clean  _ -the walls were smooth with no punch-holes in sight, the windows weren't cracked, and none of the seats seemed to have their springs coming loose. A nice place, if only it weren't so shady. Newt walked on and found his brother slumped on a stool, drooling onto the bar top. A strangely elegant wall clock ticking overhead told him it was just past 3:30 am. 

 

An hour ago Leta had phoned his apartment. Newt had been editing the manuscript for his new book when his sister-in-law slash bestest-girlfriend-in-the-world had called sounding like a tired vacuum salesman that hadn't had a sale in weeks. As presumed, it was about his brother, her ‘dear darling’ husband, who apparently must've gotten himself lost on his way home back from work because  _ he hasn't come home yet, Newt, I swear to god I've been waiting FIVE HOURS dear lord I'm so done.  _ The traffic excuse wasn't going to work this time- if it ever really did -so that left Newt to decide if he was going to continue his editing and tell Leta to  _ go the fuck to sleep, you're a lawyer, you have hell to face tomorrow _ , or hang up with a sigh, get on his worn out track bike- which he preferred over the car with how long it took to start up -and go look for his brother. Illogically, he went with the second one. 

 

Newt was grateful the place was all but deserted. No one around to ogle his lanky drenched form, sopping sweater and even soppier gray sneakers. He hadn't counted for it to rain or for his bike to catch a flat- he hadn't brought a patch kit and dragging it along had been a work out on all fronts -a mere block away from the place. His brother seemed to be the only patron left, with the exception of a man in a gray coat who was currently chatting up the barkeep. Newt couldn't quite make him out, but from the way the barkeep was hollering, some strange joke passed between them, Newt could tell he probably wasn't drunk and absurdly wide awake from smooth yet animated tone of his voice. Quite a curious interaction, though he had no time to dwell on his interest as he made his was to his brother. 

 

Theseus was not a man for drink. A couple of fire whiskeys now and again, maybe a beer after a successful case or two, wine on anniversary night, but that was just about it. Newt knew him more for smokes and chocolate than for rum and whiskey. Though, the past couple of months have been rough, unsolved murders and whatnot, so admittedly Newt had seen this coming. Where Percival was adamantly drowning in coffee and files, his partner was drowning in a see of frustration and New Franklin's strongest brand of whiskey. 

 

“Theseus?” he whispered. “Thee?”

 

The slumbering form gave no indication of being the slightest bit aware of the world and continued to snore as Newt shook his shoulders. Though his brother wasn't built like a pygmy tank as Percival was, his shoulders were as hard as boulders as Newt punched and shoved, trying in vain to wake what was essentially a bear mid hibernation. 

 

“Theseus, we have to go now”. Both hands on his shoulders. Still nothing. “Leta's waiting at home. She's waited long enough and she hasn't slept since yesterday evening.”

 

Nothing. 

 

“Thee!”

 

A mumble and Newt thought he'd made progress…..only to scowl as all his brother did was move his head to the side- away from Newt, the smartass -and buried it back in his arms. 

 

“Theseus you dunderhead! You have work today, Travers will skin you if you're late!”

 

“....mmm. F'ck off Traverssssmmm.”

 

And then nothing. 

 

Newt sighed and ran his aching fingers through his wet hair. They might as well be here till mid morning. Even if he somehow miraculously manage to shove Theseus to soberness, there was no guarantee they'd make it home in one piece. Cabs were hard to come by through these streets, what with the lack of folks who didn't drive cars. He could call Leta, but for a small, six months pregnant woman to be driving around this late at night alone was just asking for trouble. His bike was out if the question and all the stores were mostly closed or simply didn't have anything he could fix it with, either way it could never fit two people. 

 

Newt was just about to get a drink himself when subtle footsteps came up behind him and the hairs in the back of his neck stood prickling his skin. He turned around and saw a diamond-copper eyes smiling back. 

 

“Perhaps I could be of service?”

___

 

Gellert had noticed him as he'd walked in, almost right away. He'd seen him out of the corner of his eye- a flash of red, a ratty sweater -and for the exact amount of two seconds, thought  _ He  _ had walked into Old Harley's little bar. 

 

Of course, he was mistaken, but what he found somewhat made up for that. 

 

The curious creature standing before him was definitely not local. Gellert knew everyone in town- not to say N. Frank was small, Faust bless if it was, but no sadly -and the freckled, slightly tanned face staring back at him was definitely new. He'd remember if he'd seen eyes that shade of green. 

 

“No thank you. We're fine, thanks”. Ah, manners, what a rare blessing. And what an adorable smile, if Gellert wasn't sure about this stranger's recent occupance, he was now. 

 

“Oh I'm sure you are, liebling”, a blush, how cute. “But I’m not too sure about our poor detective over there.”

 

The adorable stranger glanced at the sleeping form beside him and frowned. “Yes, well he'll wake up soon.”

 

_ An ‘I hope’ should be in there somewhere _ , Gellert mused. An unfounded hope. If anything Harley’s ever told him was to be taken seriously- and it was, mind you, when it came to his rather dubious patrons -then Gellert speculated Detective Scamander's had close to fifty shots in the last five hours, a rather harrowing number. On any other night, Gellert would pay him no mind- he was a frequent patron of Harley's and some of the other bars Gellert owned -but tonight, the bothersome fool seemed to have attracted something far more interesting with his drunken stupor. He'd have to remind Travers to give poor Scamander a raise and well deserved vacation soon. 

 

But for now, the stranger was playing coy, so Gellert would return the favor. 

 

“Whatever you say, mein freund”, he turned to leave. “Though I do warn you, a lot of things could happen to two people wandering the streets so early in the morning, and if that bike outside is yours, I'd suggest leaving it. It will only serve to mark you down.”

 

A glance told him the stranger very much agreed with his words, with the way his eyes widened just a bit and the apple of his throat bobbed out of his sweater collar. In truth, he'd only seen the bike a second before he came to speak to the man, he hadn't actual known it was his. Gellert smiled. He always had been good at guessing games. 

 

Speaking of games, it seemed he'd just scored a point, as the stranger's shoulders snagged, relenting as he sighed: “Well, maybe a little help wouldn't be so bad.”

 

_ No my dear, not bad at all _ , and that was how he found himself hauling a drunken detective into the backseat of his car. 

 

It was a good thing he decided to play nice tonight, otherwise he'd just throw Scamander in- hazard be damned -instead of precariously tucking his lanky ass into the seat. He was out cold anyway, he wouldn't even remember the incident, and even if he did, so what? Just a few bruises on his arms probably, nothing too detrimental. 

 

But then, it would look too good on his resume would it? Helping an ‘officer if the law’ was bad enough, but out right tossing him into the trunk? That wouldn't exactly win any favors with the department now would it? Besides, the stranger-

 

The stranger. Gellert looked up from where he was buckling Scamander's seat and from the window he glimpsed a shivering for hugging themselves by Harley's entrance. He frowned. No, that won't do, that won't do at all. His eyes then wandered to the front seat, the passenger side that held a thick brown bundle. His old coat from his school days- he'd have to thank Tante Hilda for sending him yet another miracle -worn, yes, but the quality of it somehow hadn't changed from the day he’d stuffed it into the closet of his old room nearly two decades ago in a fit of rage. He’d been surprised to receive it- leave it to Tante Hilda to find old relics thought long forgotten -and after having inspected it, found no holes. He'd initially planned to give it to that poor young man who lived by the church, having passed him by frequently enough to know his mother liked to leave him out in the rain at night as ‘punishment’ or some nonsense like that, but it must've slipped his mind. 

 

He grabbed it- soft as anything, a hazy image slipped by him but he shook it aside -slipping it under his arm as he shut the door and jogged over to the worn, shivering stranger. When he came over, the redhead eyed him full of suspicion and then shock as he wordlessly slung the coat over the his shoulders and, hand on the small of his back, led him to the car. Passing a final glance at Harley's, Gellert then opened the passenger side door, helped the stranger inside, then moved to the driver's so he could finally get them out of here. 

 

Inside, he relished the fact that he'd left the heater on- even if Vinda would bench him for it later -warmth finally seeping through him as he shrugged his coat off and went into reverse. The stranger was silent as he pulled out of the driveway and for the first few minutes of driving through Miller's Street and then some. He didn't mind, the poor thing was probably tired. It wouldn't be long until the sun reared its ugly head and for a new day to begin- though Gellert was at least planning to hide under the covers until further notice if nothing came up that morning -for New Franklin's much overworked populace. 

 

It wasn't until they’d passed the park- the image of Bosco hunting through it last week popped into his head, he smiled at the memory -that the stranger finally spoke. 

 

“You keep dogs?” it was framed like a statement, but came out hardly a mumbled question. It took a moment for Gellert to register it, but once he did he smiled. 

 

“Yes,” he answered. “Two actually.”

 

“How big are they?”

 

He hummed. “Not very big, or, at least one isn't. Why do you ask?”

 

“There’s only one seat in the back,” the stranger said. “You've taken out the rest and replaced it with carpet. You've also nailed hooks onto the side wall. There are leads hanging from them. And bones on the floor.”

 

Gellert blinked and glanced at the back of the car.  _ What an astute observation _ , he thought. Was that why he was so silent? Was he trying to figure out why only half of the back seat was left and why there were bones- he'd have to put those away again -on the floor? Still, Gellert said nothing, waiting to see what else the man would say. 

 

What he got was a soft: “I think you either love your dogs very much or have too much spare time.”

 

At that, Gellert laughed. 

 

“Both actually,” he chuckled and it was true. He remembered the first time he bought the hatchback and carted it back to the manor, used and battered, taking it apart piece by piece for weeks in the garage, much to Vinda and Elliot's horror. Carter had helped and so had Mike and together the three of them reworked and refurbished the otherwise useless old thing into something that was very much needed for the House: a car specifically for the dogs. Victoire had laid claim to the back seat as her ‘throne’ upon entering, Sweeney- after having a thorough check of everything twice -settled his large and wiry frame in the back, and Bosco made do with the space in between. Gunnar rarely joined the team on any sort of business, but when he had that first time after, Jorge had curled up in the corner in front of Victoire's throne and made his home there, snoring away. The car was- after a lengthy argument that ended in a color war -painted a light steel blue and christened ‘The Hound Harrier’. It was still, by far, Gellert's favorite to drive even without any dogs in it. 

 

Without thinking- as he was wont to do sometimes -Gellert had told the stranger as much as he drove, realizing how much he liked the other’s light laughter as he told other stories as well. The other seemed none too interested at first, but as Gellert went on, a smile had crept onto the other's face and soon he was giggling and laughing at whatever tale of misguidance or misfortune Gellert put in front of him. It was truly a sight and a wonder how Detective Scamander hadn't been woken up by such a wondrous sound. 

 

“....scared the life out of him, came running back to the house like a mad man. We thought he was crazy, but he kept on tugging at my sleeves to go and check.”

 

“What did you find?” the stranger shook, still wiping away tears from the last one. 

 

“A kitten”. The other choked. “A kitten, trapped under the front seat, yowling for help and soaked to the bone in motor oil.”

 

“Poor thing.”

 

“Poor  _ Collin _ . They never let him live it down. They had him pull it out from under there and it jumped on his face. I couldn't tell which was louder. Him, the cat, or Vinda cackling as they tried to get it off.”

 

By then he was crying himself. The antics, good lord, the sheer outrageous absurdity of the situations they found themselves in. He often wondered if he was living with some of the most dangerous people in the world or the a bunch of bumbling disoriented pigeons that just happened to crash through his window. 

 

_ Both probably _ , he mused as the stranger recovered and looked up at him with eyes full of mirth. 

 

“Where is it now?”

 

“What?”

 

The stranger chuckled. “The  _ kitten,  _ Gellert, where is it now?”

 

“Oh him? He lives at the manor and follows people around like a puppy. Chases Collin down the stairs everyday on his stubby little legs. One day he'll trip and all bets are Antonio’s going to eat his nose.”

 

“Antonio?”

 

Gellert nodded. Antonio. The sight never got old, seeing that fluffy little sausage chase a grown man through his house. Sometimes Bosco and Victoire would join in and Gellert would catch Vinda with her phone out recording the whole thing, right up until Collin would jump into Carter's arms to save himself from ‘being eaten alive by the furry little monsters’. 

 

“Do you own any pets?” Gellert asked, still not having gotten the stranger's name. 

 

“Yes,” was his answer. “Two mollies. They won't let me own any dogs at the apartment so..”

 

Gellert huffed. “Pity. Dogs are absolutely hilarious when they want to be-”, and they  _ were _ , “but tell me about your darling queens then.”

 

The stranger's face grew serious for a moment, as if deep in thought. 

 

“Well Dougal's, um, she's nice. She follows me around the house, sleeps on my lap when I write, and, um, helps me clean up sometimes after Niffler. Niff is, well, Niff. She likes to, um, run around, make a mess, and, well, steal things.”

 

Gellert raised a brow. “Steal things?”

 

The stranger laughed sheepishly. “Yes, well, she likes shiny things. Anything metal really she'll horde under my bed and, um, well, it makes dinner with friends a bit hard when she's stolen all the spoons.”

 

Gellert nodded, though noting all the ‘ums’ in the redhead's speech. He figured he was shy, not used to talking about himself or his personal life as he was listening to and about others. Gellert was no stranger to his kind, but it was still rare to see someone like that in his profession. Even Collin, in all his awkwardness, could still hold a conversation pretty well without stuttering. 

 

_ How cute _ , he let himself think as he hummed, listening to the stranger. 

 

“Once she stole my brother's badge.”

 

Gellert chuckled. “She did, did she?”

 

Instead of a laugh, the stranger looked away and sighed. “Yes, and he wasn't too happy about that.”

 

Gellert hummed, but then something dawned on him. 

 

“Detective Scamander….is your brother?” The stranger nodded. Well. Now that explained something. 

 

_ But still….  _ He glanced at the other and then the window overlooking the man in the back seat, and then back.  _ They're nothing alike _ . Well that wasn't true. They had a similar facial structure, were nearly the same height- he'd measured a bit from earlier -and…. 

 

That was it. 

 

“You're completely different” he blurted. The stranger chuckled nervously in response. 

 

“Yes, that's what most people point out when they first meet us.”

 

Unbelievable. He knew Scamander. Theseus Scamander had been a thorn in his side since he'd been promoted, the detective always seemed to be dogging the heels of his operatives and asking questions he shouldn't. Loud, outspoken, annoyingly determined to find  _ something  _ off about his dear city and what Gellert had to do with it. He'd be endearing if he wasn't constantly making a fuss about things. At least Graves had the sense to do things quietly and cordially, not much could be said the same about his partner. And to think, that pesky detective was this sweet, precious, adorable, shy fundevogel’s brother? Now that was atrocious. A crime. Whoever the hell put these two in the same family must've mixed up the birth certificates at the hospital. How could those innocent green eyes belong to a Scamander? Preposterous! Blasphemy! Utter poppycock! 

 

“Though, most people tend to avoid me”, the stranger, the Scamander-he-wishes-wasn't-a-Scamander continued, oblivious to Gellert's utter disbelief at what he'd just said. “Theseus, well, he's the outgoing one. People love him. He's a cop, a hero. I'm just a writer. I don't like going out and, um, people think I'm weird and, well, strange. They tend to ignore me and I don't really blame them. I'm not very good company.”

 

“There are no strange creatures, only blinkered people” Gellert stated, quoting his current favorite book. “And you're wonderful company. You're sweet, you listen, and you laugh at my jokes. I'd say you are by far the best company I've had in weeks.”

 

That much was true. Vinda was currently out of town- though she said she'd be back by tomorrow -and casual conversation with anyone else in the House normally ended in awkward silences and forced laughter. They were criminals, he was their boss, so all things considered, it was to be expected. Still, he had missed at least having someone actually  _ laugh  _ an honest _ laugh  _ at him, something not even Vinda did, with her villainous cackle full of mockery that he loved but often found a bit prickly for his taste. The last time he'd had a conversation this relaxed and pleasant was-

 

His hand tightened on the steering wheel. Damn him, couldn't he have one second without that blasted face popping up in his head like a damned cockroach? Damn  _ him  _ and that stupid summer for taking away so much of the light in his life. 

 

Gellert sighed. Now was not the time to be angry. He was driving for Faust sake, what if he crashed them into a tree? 

 

_ Speaking of ‘them’ _ , Gellert shifted his gaze towards the stranger, noticing a tense silence that wasn't there before. What he found was big green eyes staring back at him in shock and for a moment, a terrifying moment, he thought the other had seen the anger on his face and thought it was directed at him. 

 

Worried now, Gellert loosened his grip on the leather and softly asked: “Are you…alright?” _ did I scare you?  _

 

Those eyes merely continued to stare at him and with each passing second, guilt began to eat at Gellert's hollowed heart. Had he scared this poor, innocent lamb? Great, another perfectly good thing he managed to somehow ruin by not keeping himself together. 

 

But then he saw that throat bob, freckled hands shake, and a whisper of a voice thunder in his ear:

 

“I- you- you read my book.”

 


End file.
